Cold as a Grave
by GLaDOS-01
Summary: The death of her father has hit Byleth hard. One night with no one to see, she lets go of her bottled feelings. An unexpected confrontation before her parent's grave leads her to comfort.


**Date: 1st of Guardian Moon, 1180**

**Location: Garreg Mach Monastery **

It had been a cold afternoon in the Ethereal Moon that Jeralt died. The wind was silent and slow, as if holding its breath in the face of such an event. The delighted delivery of betrayal that did him in, most of all, was the greatest pain. Byleth held in her tears and her screams. She bottled up the rage, the helplessness and the urge to kill for days.

Yet now, Sothis was sleeping. The monastery was practically abandoned of its forces due to the search for Jeralt's murderers. Deep into the dark of night, before her mother and father's grave, Byleth finally let herself feel.

_He looked like such a proud, happy father whenever he spoke of you…_

A rough gasp strained Byleth's throat. Her fingers clutched at the grass.

_I'm so… sorry… He really loved you, you know?_

The tears were coming hard and fast now, spilling down her face unabashedly. They burned like fire, stinging her eyes as if to punish her for feeling so broken. So weak.

_We failed in our duty to protect everyone. I know you could never forgive us for our sins. _

Byleth clenched her teeth around a scream. It escaped still, though muffled and wavering in its despair. She almost startled when she felt the grass against her face; she hadn't realized how badly her sobs were making her bow.

_He's gone and it's not right! What did we do wrong, professor?_

A presence behind her startled Byleth, wrenching her from her reverie. The hand that silently gripped her shoulder felt too much like an intrusion- a threat. The former mercenary reacted purely on reflex, twisting in the grass and raising an arm to roughly smack the offending hand away.

Byleth tried blinking away her tears, but in the dark, they only reinforced themselves. She would have spoken, argued, shouted- she wasn't sure. Her throat was swollen and her jaw was screwed tight.

The hand snapped back at her- blurred movement rushing toward her, followed by a shadowed figure. Byleth almost jumped back but realized her parents' grave was there. Instead, she elected to jerk out her arm again to redirect the appendage coming her way. Another struck out, capturing her wrist which she twisted roughly.

Blow after blow was given and taken, Byleth and the assassin dancing with death. If she wasn't so distraught, she would have laughed at the irony. She had watched her father die, and now her father's grave would see her die upon it.

Byleth tackled her attacker to the ground- only to immediately be taken off-balance and flipped. She wrestled with all she had, cursing all the while her lack of any weapons.

Alas, her experience in hand-to-hand combat was lacking. Her assassin took advantage of it. Byleth was thrown onto her back and trapped there. The body sitting atop her, hands pressed firmly into the grass by her head, reassured her end was here.

Byleth coughed roughly, out of breath and exhausted, "Looks like you won. Make the killing blow before someone finds us, assassin."

"Assassin?" the voice above, Byleth realized, was familiar. "Byleth, it is only I, Rhea."

"Oh," a grave moan broke from the professor as what she'd just done dawned on her, "Is it- really you? I… my eyes… I can't see."

The pressure holding down her hands vanished as the weight sitting atop her shifted. Hands came to her face and gently, so gently wiped at her eyes. There, above her with a tired smile and some dirt on her cheek, was indeed archbishop Rhea.

"There, now," she whispered, "All better?"

"I'm sorry," Byleth's voice choked, coming out on a breathless whisper. She dropped her head and lost all resistance to Rhea's hold on her. A new set of tears streaked from her eyes regretfully.

Rhea's impossibly soft fingers did away with them once again, "There is nothing to forgive, my dear. I am only relieved that I came to find you without my headdress on."

A hysteric laugh escaped Byleth without warning. She covered her face with a hand, both relieved that Rhea was so practiced in martial combat and furious with herself for attacking the woman. It was almost irritating how easily Rhea diffused Byleth's tension, both now and in the past.

"You should be mad at me," the former mercenary looked at the immaculate woman above her apologetically, "I know I'm mad at myself."

Rhea shook her head softly, "On the contrary, I have not had the pleasure of a spar in some time. Even you must admit expending your energy in this way is much less destructive than holding it all in, and allowing it to fester. That method only leads to more pain."

Byleth would have argued if she had ground to stand on. Rhea was right and they both knew it.

The archbishop released Byleth and helped her back to her feet, "Come. I'm not ready to let you go alone into the night."

Her body was following before she even thought about it. As upset with herself as she was, Byleth could at least admit to feeling more put together at Rhea's side. Something about being with her made her feel more whole… well enough to forget how hollow she felt inside.

Eventually, they arrived to Rhea's private chambers. The archbishop had Byleth sit while she prepared tea. Minutes of preparation passed in silence. Byleth released a breath and rubbed at her throat. It was so sore, even though she'd refrained from screaming. Her face felt a little stiff and crusty. Best not to even think about her eyes, which likely looked bloodshot and deranged.

"How do you always find me when I really need you?" Byleth's voice disturbed the quiet atmosphere around them. Rhea glanced to her as she set the tea out, and she smiled.

"I suppose that is a gift we hold for each other," the archbishop answered softly, "For when I think of you with need, you always appear."

Byleth gingerly accepted a teacup from her companion, "Thank you, regardless… I don't know what I would do if anyone else found me."

"Would you not have fought them as well?" the witty smile on Rhea's face proved she was only jesting. Still, Byleth blushed with embarrassment and looked into her cup.

"I meant…" she paused, wondering for a moment if she should say. But Rhea deserved the truth, she knew. The archbishop had helped her many times over with advice since coming to Garreg Mach. "Well… I've never cried before… The first time was when my father-" Byleth's voice cracked harshly, "When I held him. When I watched him die."

Rhea watched Byleth silently, holding in her words of comfort until she was finished.

"I don't know the protocols for it, or how people are supposed to react to me doing it," Byleth shook her head, lost, "More than that, I have to be strong for everyone. I have to… Well. I'm just glad it's you, Rhea."

A now-familiar hand cupped Byleth's where it was curled around the warm teacup, "As am I, dear Byleth. Know that if you ever have need of me, I am here. I will never turn you away."

Byleth found it in herself to raise her head and look at the impossibly strong woman before her, "Thank you. That alone comforts me greatly."

With that, the tension finally breathed out. Quiet words became a slow acknowledgment. Eventually, they were deep in conversation and completely at ease. Byleth would have awed at how Rhea's presence chased away much of her pain if she wasn't so enamored with the woman's undivided attention.

Rhea chuckled to herself as she wiped a damp cloth against a scrape on Byleth's chin, "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Rhea sighed happily, eyes looking thoughtfully at the professor's wound, "I was only remembering a time when life here at Garreg Mach was quiet and uneventful. Nothing so exciting as a paper cut."

"That sounds nice…" Byleth gently took hold of Rhea's hand to still it.

There was an almost electrocuting moment that passed between them, just gazing at each other. Byleth was loathe to end it when she took the damp cloth from her companion's hand.

"Would you not miss the excitement of battle?" Rhea smiled indulgently as she allowed Byleth to gently wipe the dirt from her face.

"I don't think I would, honestly…" Byleth considered the thought about as enticing as eating glass, "I imagine that my favorite day would begin with awaking in the arms of someone I love. Holding hands as we eat breakfast… strolling through a garden just to smell the flowers in bloom… napping by a fireplace just because I feel safe… and then retiring to bed with my love to do it all again the next day."

With the dirt gone from Rhea's face, the two paused and looked to each other. The electric anticipation- the feeling of unspoken words and promises and longing- resurfaced.

Byleth swallowed it all down. Even if she did want to confess now, Rhea would only be troubled by it. There was no way that the archbishop would ever love someone like her.

Byleth had to mentally shake herself to force her eyes away from Rhea's. She felt a profound loss at breaking such a connection. Yet she had to. Otherwise, she may have said something she would regret.

Awkwardly, the former mercenary cleared her throat and began dabbing at a grass stain on Rhea's brow. The archbishop allowed this stoically, hands folded in her lap and eyes focused nowhere.

Almost an hour passed before the both of them were cleaned of evidence from their fight.

"Thank you again," Byleth bowed respectfully to Rhea, "I feel much better."

Rhea nodded back, smiling tremulously- as if it wasn't the expression she wanted to make, "Take care not to push yourself beyond your limits, my dear professor. As 'fun' as our encounter was, I would be quite upset to see you so distraught again."

"Of course, Your Grace," Byleth fought not to blush, "Please, get some rest. I'm heading straight to bed myself."

"Indeed, Byleth," Rhea gave Byleth's hands one last squeeze as they stood facing each other in the doorway, "Sleep well."

The walk back to her quarters blurred past as Byleth's body moved on its own direction. There was still so much to take in, and so much more to prepare for. Not only for her students and for the monastery, but for herself. Sleep, she knew, would evade her again tonight. It was for the best, really. She didn't want to have any more nightmares.

In the morning she would have to face the world with a straight face. For the moment, at least, when she was truly alone, she could allow herself to feel.


End file.
